All this girl drama lately has me down, and it’s making for depressing columns.
Part of me wishes I could just go back to writing about foreign prostitutes on the other side of the world. Ahhh, those were the days.
Maybe writing a fantastic column this week is difficult now because I’m on the rebound.
I’m sure many have been in this situation before. People usually get stuck on the rebound after breakups, or in my case, after committing courtship “no-nos.”
Being on the rebound is like being on a deserted island with nothing around but hot sand and a measly coconut tree. Dwellers feel like they can’t go anywhere or do anything but look at the coconuts and draw meaningless pictures in the sand at their feet. It’s discouraging to say the least.
This is not the first time I’ve been in this place I like to call “Loser Land.” It’s more like the hundredth time.
I was there January 2004. I had been seeing a girl often for about a month and a half. We went to Christmas parties together, watched movies and had a swinging time. Things moved very quickly, but sputtered very quickly as well.
Thinking back, maybe she got together with me so she could get a Christmas present and have someone to kiss on New Year’s Eve, because once January hit she did not answer my phone calls. She played the avoidance game rather than coming out and saying “All I wanted was a cheap thrill,” or something to that effect. So I tucked my tail and went away.
Normally it is times like these when I like to rely on my backup girlfriend for love, comfort and support. She is perfect. She is always around, always cooperates and comes to life when I’m with her. Other girls hate her. In fact, she’s been known to ruin many relationships.
Yes, normally it is times like these when I sit down and play some X-Box.
Miss X-Box is a temporary fix to any problem. If a girlfriend dumps you, you can get a new one on Sims. If somebody cuts you off in traffic, you can ram him or her off the road in NASCAR 2005. And if the world seems to be bearing down on you, you can blow innocent victims’ guts out on Hitman with a SPAS 12-guage shotgun. Indeed, there is a game to cure any ailment.
But something terrible happened to my backup girl just when I needed her most. The lender of the TV that gave her life came to collect what was once hers, and I’ve felt depleted ever since.
As a result, I’ve spent more time just sitting on my bed, thinking about what I could possibly do to fill the time I had spent hanging out with members of the opposite sex. I just haven’t found any solutions quite yet.
For example, I can’t watch TV because it bugs me. I feel wrong boosting Nielsen ratings for scourges of society like Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie.
Stuffing my face at the Chuck-A-Rama could make me feel better for a while, but in the end my bowels would pay.
I tried to find some comfort in the hot tub, but the maintenance man must have accidentally filled it with the chlorine hose instead of the regular water hose. After five minutes, my skin was burning and I was half blind.
Hmmm.
Does anybody have a TV I could hook my X-Box up to?